


past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind

by cedartrees



Series: Dead Man's Hand [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Panic Attacks, Vault 111, also featuring several random settler characters, and nate, this took so long to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedartrees/pseuds/cedartrees
Summary: ****please be warned that this contains a description of a character having a panic attack. if you think that this might set you off, please don't read this piece. i don't want anyone to get hurt.This story also delves a little into religion. My SoSu is Christian and that is addressed in the story.MacCready and Sylvie reach Sanctuary Hills; a Fat Man is oohed and aahed over, Mac discovers you're not supposed to eat before grace has been said and Sylvie returns to the vault.





	past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Panic attack is towards the middle, a healthy dose of angst follows it. Happy-ish ending though?

It was nearing dark when they passed the ruins of a Red Rocket Station and the boss eagerly picked up the pace. 

“Sanctuary is just over the hill!” She chirped, clapping Mac on the shoulder. “You’ll love it.”

Mac squinted down at the river and the cluster of buildings just past it. There was a gate on the bridge across the river and and water purifiers lining the bank. People were stationed at guard towers alone the edges and turrets gleamed atop the houses.

“Evening folks! I’m back!” The boss hollered, stepping up to the gate. It swung open with a creak and a shaggy mutt bounded out, followed by a young man with a lazer musket over his shoulder. She crouched down to pepper the dog with kisses and scratchings before pulling the canine into her lap. 

“Aye, Dogmeat!” She cried. “You silly fool, yes, I’m home.” The dog chuffed at her and sprawled bonelessly across her legs, happy as a clam.

“Howdy, Preston.“ She grinned up at the young man. "How’s Sanctuary? Any new settlers? Did the raiders lurking around Concord cause any trouble? Is the treehouse still up? We stopped at Abernathy by the way. Finally had the supplies to set up a beacon. Everyone was great, crops and brahmin were healthy.”

The young man was apparently quite used to the boss’ chatter and endless questions, he just smiled and nodded or shook his head. “No trouble, General. All’s been well.”

“Stellar! Oh and meet MacCready, he’s the poor sap I conned into traveling with me for a bit. Figured I’d give Nick a bit to relax and catch up on his cases, so I did what any smart person would do and snapped up the first merc I came across in Goodneighbor.” She smiled jauntily and rolled the shepherd dog free of her lap. It bounced up and eyed him warily.

"Mac, meet Preston Garvey, he’s with the Minutemen.”

The boss tugged Mac closer with one hand, gesturing between him and the Minuteman with the other.

Preston stared at him, suspicion brimming in his gaze. Mac scuffed his feet along the ground and dipped his head to the Minuteman. “Pleasure.” The boss beamed a quick smile at him, friendly at first glance, but Mac caught the underlying ’be nice you scruffy merc’. He shrugged at her, ‘i’ll be nice if they are’.

The boss rolled her eyes at him and reached down to fondle the dog’s ears. “And this is Dogmeat. The first friendly soul I met out here, Codsy doesn’t count 'cause I already knew him.”

Mac crouched and held one hand out to Dogmeat. The shaggy canine stepped forward and brushed his nose across his hand. Dogmeat huffed and flapped his tail in a friendly manner, then turned and ambled inside the gate.

The boss tipped her hat to Preston and followed the dog into the settlement. Mac trailed behind her, curiously eyeing his surroundings.

Sanctuary glowed with the glimmer of lights and rattled with the sound of numerous generators chugging along. Most of the first houses inside the gate were empty, gourds and corn filling the front lawns. Towards the center of town, metal shacks adorned with colorful signs were clustered together. 

Ragged settlers rose from where they worked to swirl around the boss. They thanked her, complained to her, teased her and a hundred other things. The boss seemed at ease however, smiling and chatting happily with everyone. She appeared to love hearing about the news of the settlement from the settlers.

Children clung to her ankles and she crouched down to hand out colorful knick knacks to them, oohing and aahing over the smooth pebbles and feathers they handed her in return. 

Mac hung around the fringes. What was he supposed to do? The boss was paying him to watch her back, but in a place like this, it didn’t seem as though she needed him to watch her back.

“You’re free to wander here, kid.” The boss said when she noticed him lingering beside her. “Dinner’s not for a couple hours, so you’re free to nap, bathe or whatever. Just don’t cause any trouble.”

“You’re paying me to keep an eye on you, boss. I don’t nap on the job.” He stated stubbornly.

She snorted. “As if I haven’t caught you catnapping.” She snagged his shoulder and gently turned him towards the ramshackle houses. “See the turrets up there?” The boss pointed to the gleaming guns atop the houses. “Not much is gonna get past them.”

Her hand gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’ll be fine. You can linger around if you really want to, but I’ll just be sorting junk.”

“You do realize that by saying you’ll be fine, you’ve jinxed it? This whole place is about to be laser-ed by… by aliens now.” He pretended to frantically search the sky and was surprised by the warmth that blossomed in his stomach when she doubled over, cackling and grinning.

“I’ve- i’ve got just the thing for them aliens.” She gasped between laughter. 

The boss disapearred into a nearby house and reemerged almost immediately, a huge, bulky weapon over one shoulder.

“Holy shi- crap. Is that…?”

She held it out to him. “It is. The Big Bang herself.”

It was heavy and cool in his hands. 'The Big Bang’ was scrawled in vibrant green paint across the side. Mac set it on his shoulder and raised it to the sky, lazily chasing imaginary flying saucers across the great blue expanse.

“It’s freaking amazing, Sylvie.” He breathed, lowering the beast and handing it back to her.

“Heavy devil though, and makes a terrible mess.” She rested the end on her boot and adjusted the battered fedora on her head. “Anyway, that’s my house behind you. I’ve got a spare couch you can sleep on. It doesn’t have to many fleas.”

“Alright then, boss. Thank you and thank The Big Bang too.” He stepped away, looking to the low slung, but extensive shack she’d indicated.

“I’ll send somone to wake you when dinner’s ready, kid.” He heard her call and then her footsteps receded into the house she’d retrieved The Big Bang from.

The house was very open, lights and carefully secured wires decorated the ceiling, potted plants, paintings and various flags covered the floor and walls. The couch was stashed in a dark corner, partially obscured by the wide, fern like leaves of a scrawny plant.

Mac tucked his rifle underneath the couch, pulled his cap down over his eyes and sprawled out on the patched cushions. His limbs relaxed and he dozed off, dreaming of flying saucers and a warm smile that made his heart swell.

Mac woke to a sharp jab in the ribs and a smudgy face looming over him. He shot up with a yelp of surprise, recoiling from the scrawny figure. It was a little kid, tangled black hair and streaked with dirt. One eye swung aimlessly to the side as the child stared at Mac. 

“Dinner.”

Then the child turned and loped away, vanishing through the open doorway.

Mac stood up, retrieved his hat from the couch and rubbed his eyes wearily. Dusk was falling, smearing the sky with pale oranges and rich purples. The child was waiting for him outside the house. They beckoned for him to follow and took off towards the contraption built up around a gnarled tree.

Inside, the treehouse was open and well lit, settlers milled around, the air smelled of cooking meat and Diamond City radio played in the background. His eyes landed on the top of a worn fedora beside the cooking spit and Mac threaded through the crowd to where the boss stood.

She was jabbing a combat knife into a chunk of meat and chatting amiably with a diminutive ghoul in an apron.

“I’ve been plotting out how we can build a smoker and it doesn’t seem all to complicated." 

"Nah, it should be pretty simple.” Rasped the ghoul. She caught sight of Mac and her dark eyes narrowed. “Looks like you got an admirer, Sylv.”

The boss swung around, smiling as she saw him. “Ah! This is just the merc I hired while in Goodneighbor. Millie, meet MacCready. Mac, meet Millie.”

He tipped his hat to the withered ghoul as she eyed him suspiciously. “Mill is our resident cook and expert on food.” The boss chirped and then added with a wicked grin. “MacCready’s a snazzy kid with a neat rifle.”

“Hey!” He blustered. “This snazzy, whatever that means, kid has saved your behind multiple times with his neat rifle.”

“I know, I know, kid. I’m just pulling your leg.” She bumped her shoulder against his, rolling her eyes dramatically at Millie. The ghoul chuckled and poked the chunk of meat experimentally.

“I think this’s edible.” Millie produced a carving knife from an apron pocket and began carefully slicing apart the meat.

The boss cupped her hands around her mouth and turned to the crowd. “Dinner’s up! Grab your plates, folks!” She bellowed.

Settlers flocked to a long and narrow table against one wall. The clatter of plates filled the room, nearly drowning out the chattering voices of two dozen hungry settlers.

Mac slid into line, plate in one hand, utensils in the other. The boss was behind him, exchanging banter with someone called Sturges. He heaped his plate with crispy meat and snagged a seat at the far end of the table. The boss sat several seats down from him, still talking with Sturges. A battered Mr. Handy joined in on the conversation, hovering behind the two.

The food smelled delicious. Mac dove in, stomach rumbling.

He’d wolfed down half his meal when someone elbowed him sharply in the side. Mac jumped in his seat and glared at the offender. It was the scruffy boy with the lazy eye. The child glared back at him and that was when he realized the table was ominously silent. He froze, looking up at the quiet settlers. They were eyeing him with barely concealed disdain.

His gaze shifted to the boss. She winced and dropped her head into her hands. “I’m so sorry, Mac." 

He tilted his head to one side in confusion. "What, boss?”

“I forgot to tell you I’d be saying grace tonight. Dang it.” She hissed, face still hidden by her hands. “I’ll explain after dinner? The long the short of it is I say a couple words thanking my God and then we eat.”

“Oh. Sorry then.” Mac shrugged. He’d seen weirder rituals before, this didn’t particularly bother him. The hairy eyeball the settlers were giving him though…

“It’s alright, kid. Let’s bow our heads then and pray.” Mac ducked his head and listened as the boss solemnly gave thanks. An amen coursed through the crowd of settlers and everyone tore into the meal. He eagerly joined in, practically inhaling the last half of the meat.

The food didn’t last long and before long card games were breaking out. Mac was drawn into a game of poker and played till the cards started to blur in his hands. He stumbled free of the game and down the stairs, the breath of chill air a sharp awakener.

Not entirely sure where he was sleeping, he ambled down to the boss’ house. The night was frosty and clear, not a speck of cloud in the blackness. Sylvie was leaning against the side of the building, face angled to the sky.

“Hey, kid.” She said without looking away from the black night. He dipped his head in greeting and halted beside her.

“This is where I lived, before the war.” She pointed to the house directly across from the one The Big Bang was stored in. “That was my house.”

He squinted at it. The roof was patchy and it looked empty except for a pair of lights on either side of the doorway. “Why didn’t you just patch it up and use it for shelter?” It seemed a better idea than building a new building.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught the slight shift in her posture, weight resting as if she was getting ready to flee. “I tried. Couldn’t b- didn’t work out.”

Silence welled up between them. Mac cursed himself in his head. The boss had her own reasons for doing things and she definitely wasn’t paying him to poke his nose into those reasons.

“Sorry about dinner. It completely skipped my mind to explain saying grace to you.” She sighed after a while.

“So then what is it?” He carefully prompted.

“It’s a moment you take, generally at the end of the day, and you thank The Lord for the day, the food, whatever. It’s a prayer and a thank you… And usually you don’t eat till grace has been said.” She added with a teasing grin. “If you’re not cool with it, that’s totally alright. There’s plenty of settlers who either tune me out or do their own thing while I’m praying.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I just didn’t know.” He shrugged and hunched his shoulders against the wind. “Yeah, again I’m sorry 'bout that.” She dipped her head apologetically. “Now why dontcha head on inside, the couch is yours.” She squeezed his shoulder gently and gestured towards the door.

Mac happily obliged, dashing inside. He brushed past the ferns surrounding the couch, shucked off his boots and curled up tight on the cushions. Sleep followed quickly, the first full night of it in a long while.

It was dark when he woke, someone was gently tapping him but he couldn’t see who it was. There was something over him? He pawed at the covering and flinched as searing light pierced the darkness. A blanket. He was snarled up in a blanket. Mac pried it away from his face, squinting and grumbling. 

“Ah! It lives!”

He glared up at the boss. “ 'Course it does. Despite best efforts to smother it.” He slurred and sat up, slowly shrugging away the blanket.

“I’m hurt. You were curled up like a frozen armadillo on my couch so I covered you.” She flopped down next to him and made a face. “Kid, i’m sorry, but if you don’t start hightailing it for the river, I’ll scrub you clean myself.”

He eyed her damp hair and pink nose. “Just how cold is it?” His scalp itched and he was scruffier than the shepherd mutt, Dogmeat. He definitely needed a bath.

“It’s chilly. You’ll live though, the cold will keep you from spending too much time in the water.” She nudged him towards the edge of the couch with her boot. “Meet me here when you’re clean. We’ve got work to do.”

Mac shed the blanket and made his way down to the riverbank, shivering in the crisp air. To say the water was chilly was an understatement. He couldn’t contain a yelped curse at the temperature and quickly scrubbed the majority of the grime away.

There was no mirror around to shave at, so he shoved his clothes back on and loped back to the house, hoping the boss had a spare mirror.

She did, and pointed him to the partially walled off section of the house. “If you look in the nightstand next to the mirror, I’ve even got a couple of the sharp whatchamacallits!” She called after him, still sprawled lazily on the couch, a backpack underneath her feet.

Mac sighed in relief. Shaving with a pocketknife was chancy at best, he’d never really figured out how to keep a keen edge on his knives.

The little room was very obviously the boss’. Weeds and flowers in pieced together pots lined the walls, hungrily drinking up the thin sunlight. Flags were pinned to the walls next to dusty drawings. A messily made bed was wedged in the far corner. The mirror and the rickety nightstand were just to the left of it.

Bobby pins, hair bands, rags and brushes cluttered the surface of the table. A glass of water sat next to a rusty toy rocketship that looked like it had once hung from something. Inside the ship, metal glinted and he carefully tipped it to one side, peering in.

It was a thin gold ring. His head titled curiously. This was unexpected. He let it tip back upright though, reluctant to pry into that matter. “She’s paying you to shoot things, not nose into her business.” He quietly reminded himself, gently tugging open the one drawer and fishing out a clean razor.

Mac was grateful for the water and the rags(at least two dozen of them in neat little stacks along the back of the nightstand and he was certain the boxes in the corner held more junk). It felt good to be clean. Or at least semi-clean.

The boss bounced up as he entered the main room, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “You ready, kid?” She queried, one hand on the doorknob. He nodded, slapping his cap down tight on his head. “Where we headin’?”

She was a moment before answering and Mac felt his shoulders tighten slightly as tension trickled up as if from a hidden spring below the floorboards.

“Vault. The one I came out of, 111.” She finally said, then abruptly turned and paced outside. He followed, warily watching her. She was jittery and that made him jittery. The drowsy settlers tending crops around them seemed blissfully unaware of any looming trouble however.

They stalked past the houses down a narrow dirt path to an old bridge. A dry creek bed ran underneath it, choked up with branches and dead grass. The path led upwards and he caught glimpses of rusty chain link at the top of the rise. A huge billboard rose above the trees, but it too faded for Mac to make much out.

The boss stumbled, but scrambled upright before he could help her. Sweat dampened her hair even in the cold and her skin was uncharacteristically pale. “Hey, boss. Is everything all right?” He asked carefully. She glanced, but didn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah, of course. I’m fine.” Her lips parted in a cheery smile and she jogged ahead before he could say anything else.

Pale and scattered skeletons clustered around the decrepit fence, the gate long since rusted away. Mac stepped carefully over them, one hand resting lightly on his rifle’s shoulder sling. This place, and the boss’ behavior, set him on edge like nobody’s business. Trailers and storage containers were piled around the flat top of the rise, the boss gravitated towards them, briefly picking through the scraps.

On a hill to the south, a meager structure caught Mac’s eye. He tensed and swung the rifle from his shoulder. The boss looked up from where she was pawing through a toolbox. 

“Sniper’s hide?” She queried softly. He nodded, beginning a slow stalk up the rocks to the structure. It was empty, but there were a couple dusty bottles of water and a few rounds. He pocketed the rounds while the boss investigated a stark marking on the side of the hide. 

“A sign of some sort.” She knelt, fingertips pressed to the white wood. He crouched beside her, rifle leaning against the lone chair. “Looks a little familiar, but I couldn’t tell you what it means.” The mysterious setup and sign had momentarily distracted the boss. The line of her shoulders was smoother and she seemed more focused.

She pushed her glasses up her nose and sighed. “Well, we’ll learn someday. Time to press on.” And just like that the jitteriness hanging about the boss returned and she skittered down the slope, as jumpy as a radstag.

Mac trailed after her, the hairs on the back of his neck twitching. 

She entered the trailer nearest to the flat, circular platform on the edge of the rise. He waited outside, scanning the area, while she fiddled with the ancient controls.

“We’re good to… good to go.” The boss muttered as she brushed past him. She stopped in the middle of the platform, breathing shakily and staring at the ragged Concord horizon. Mac stepped onto the platform, halting beside her.

“Boss. What’s going on?” He hoped his tone left no choice but to answer truthfully because there was no way he was sticking around if things were just gonna get nastier. He had no want to be shot by his employer because she had a bad case of the jitters.

She flinched at his voice, but remained rooted to the spot. “The bombs. Oh the bombs..” She whispered shakily.

The platform rumbled and began to sink, Mac swayed and planted his legs wide to keep balance. The boss whimpered and backed against the wall, then slid to the floor. He reached out, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. She was hyperventilating, teeth beginning to chatter despite the sweat dampening her clothes.

“Frick, are you sick? Are you okay?” She didn’t seem to notice as he removed her hat and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. Her skin was clammy, didn’t feel like she had a fever.

The platform shuddered to a creaking stop and she responded by pulling away from him and dry heaving into the corner. “I can’t.. i can’t stop remembering. It’s-it’s- it’s- it’s- ” She scrambled into a crouch, head in her hands. “It’s all around me it won’t leave me.”

“Ah shi…crap.” Now it made freaking sense. Panic attack. The boss was having a panic attack. “Can I help, Sylvie?” He was reluctant to touch her now because he had no idea if that would make things better or worse.

“I’ll be f- fine. Jus’ need a moment.” She curled around herself, trembling and keening. Mac dropped his head to his knees, not touching her, but near enough that he could reach out if she needed it.

How long it was until she uncurled and shakily grasped his hand, he didn’t know, but she was calmer now. He gently squeezed her hand and she smiled faintly. “I’m sorry, kid.” She mumbled, briefly releasing his hand to dig a cantine from her pack and pry it open.

“Nah, nah, boss. It’s okay. I… i understand.” His free hand curled into a limp fist and he tried to avoid the resurfacing memories. “Sometimes it won’t leave me either.” Her head dropped against his shoulder, responding to the line of tension that suddenly ran up his spine.

It was quiet then. And he realized that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t worried about being stabbed in the back. He wasn’t worried about the boss putting a knife to his throat while he slept. Did he trust her? Not entirely. But he trusted her a darn sight more than anybody since Lucy.

“We need to press on, my friend.” The boss murmured, interrupting his thoughts as she stiffly rose to her feet. Mac accepted her outstretched hand and stood up, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder. “You lead, I’ll follow.” He affirmed.

“Mac?”

“Yeah, boss?”

She took a deep breath. “Thank you. And… if you ever need anything, I’m here.” The boss threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight in a sudden hug. He tensed, caught off guard. “Uh thanks. Thanks boss.” He stuttered. “Thanks.”

They wound their way through the vault, looting the supplies untouched since the day Sylvie had crawled from the vault. Coming to an office of some sorts, the boss tugged a bobby pin from the brim of her hat and picked open a cage containing a weapon she called 'the cryolater’. It looked interesting-ish, but Mac prefered good old rifles and bullets.

She stuffed the Cryolater into his bulging backpack, rolling her eyes at the half-hearted complaints he made about useless junk and scav. “Y'know that couch you slept on last night? Patched and stuffed with some of this 'useless junk’.” She teased, swiping his cap from his head and plopping her fedora down on his head.

“Eeyy! You’ve sweat all over this thing.” He grimaced dramatically. She slapped his cap down over her fiery hair. “Oh, you’ll live.” Her grin was infectious and he found himself traipsing beside her with a light heart.

“You look like a mini, bearded me in that hat.” She chirped. “Mini?!” Mac gasped in mock despair. “Welp, there goes our partnership. Can’t go on. Just pay me this month’s caps and I’ll scatter to the wind. I can’t survive an insult like that…” He trailed off, she had halted and was staring at the open door ahead. His brows knit together in confusion. There two rows of pods in the room before them, all closed and covered in frost except for… oh.

She stepped carefully into the room and he followed hesitantly. The open pod was at the far end of the left row, but instead she headed for the one across from it. In the other pods, still forms were half hidden by the frost, looking almost like they were asleep.

There was a man inside the pod the boss halted in front of. 

The door shuddered and slid open when she pulled the lever on the control panel. Cold air flooded out, his shoulders hunched against the chill, goosebumps prickling to life.

Frozen blood stained the man’s vault suit, dull and dark. He had been tall, dark hair haphazardly swept back, a week’s worth of stubble darkening his jaw. There was a blue tinge to his skin now however and a stain of red across pale lips.

“Nate. That was his name. Nathan 'Nate’ Forester.” The boss had been quiet till now. “I met him one day at the park. Just a chance meeting, but we got to talking and…” She reached in and gently tugged a ring from cold fingers. “There were lillies at our wedding.”

“I.. uh I’m sorry. I’m sorry, boss.” He removed his cap, crumpling it between his fingers. He wanted to say something, let her know that she wasn’t the only one who’d lost a lover. But his throat twisted shut and he was quiet.

“No, no. It’s alright. I’ve kinda… accepted it. I still miss him, so much, but I know he’s gone. I’ll see him again in heaven, but until then; I have a life to be lived.” She threw the lever upwards and backed away, arms curling around herself. “And I’ll live it till God calls me home.” She shivered and turned stiffly away.

“Let’s go, got work to do back at Sanctuary.”

He followed.

That night, she drifted to bed long after he’d curled up on the couch, Dogmeat trailing behind her. Mac watched her dark form quietly cross the room, then disappear behind the wall. Beneath the rattle of generators and the wailing of the crickets, he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of someone crying, but he rolled away from the sound and threw the blanket over his head. 

“It’s not your place.” He growled. “Not your business.” But in that moment he would’ve given anything to be able to hold her tight and have her smile.

It had been so long since MacCready had been in a settlement for longer than perhaps a day. He’d forgotten how many odd jobs always needed doing. How many crops needed picked, how many roofs needed patched. The most exciting thing he did the rest of the week was clearing out a nest of bloatflies in a shack on the other side of the river.

And then the caravan came through. The whole town was in a buzz as Brahim lumbered over the horizon, bringing trade, settlers and news. Especialy news. A riot had broken out in Diamond City over suspected synths. The triggermen in Goodneighbor were getting froggy. A nasty radstorm along the coast had nearly wiped out a settlement(goody two shoes preston got real interested in that). And as Mac learned over several bottles of whiskey with the caravan guards, a nasty pair of gunners going by Winlock and Barnes and their crew were setting up shop at the Mass Pike Interchange, just downwind of Sanctuary.

He lost his taste for whiskey after that and excused himself, slinking off towards the house. “Friggen heck.” He muttered sourly. “Guess it’s time to face the devil and his wretched brother.”


End file.
